Page 7 of Tormented
“Do you need anything else?” I ask.
He lifts a hand to his mouth and runs the pad of his thumb along his bottom lip. “Yeah. Send a bottle of Jack upstairs.”
My cheeks flush, and I look to the floor. He’ll know. As if he doesn’t already know what his presence does to women. The man’s a walking, talking stick of testosterone. Over six foot of hard-earned muscle, molded onto broad shoulders, leading to hard hands, and with the eyes of a Hollywood heartthrob to distract you from the damage all those other things can do.
Not that you’d be enough of a woman for him.
Not that I should want the man either. I hate him, and yet my body doesn’t seem to understand what that means—my flat-chested, tomboy body. I’m not even his type, so there’s no logical reason for me to worry. He likes his females older, more made-up, bustier, and in less clothing.
Just look at the only one who managed to snare him for any length of time: Ramona. She’s all subtle curves and delicate beauty. She’s a stunner, and it’s no secret how she caught his attention. Wasn’t with her intellect, anyway.
“What’s the holdup?” Sawyer teases. “You need me to do something for you?”
Move, Abbey. “I’m sorry. I-I’ll bring it right up.”
“G-good,” he mocks, laughing as I storm out of the room.
My hands shake wildly, my heart still beating rapidly behind my ribcage. I take the stairs two at a time, running not only from him, but also from the shame that yet again I’m not enough. All I want is to dive into that mind of his and see how he handles his demons day-to-day without falling apart like I do. All I want is to know how I can be just like him: confident, sure of who I am, and happy with it.
Not what I am now: disgusted every time I look at the weak shell of a woman in the mirror. My past shouldn’t define me, but it sure as hell shaped me, and I hate the world for it. The only thing that’s ever changed over the years as I’ve grown up amongst this rough bunch is my deep-rooted desire to one day become a regular girl. Nowadays, young women try so damn hard to be something unique, something that stands out, the next big social media sensation. Every girl wants to be twice what she has the potential for, unhappy with what she’s been blessed with.
But not me. Fuck fame. Fuck notoriety, if it comes with a helping of humiliation. I want to blend. I want to be a wallflower. So fucking invisible that people forget I was ever in the room to begin with.
But I’ll never be any of that, because yet again I’m Abbey.
The wild child.
The street rat.
The crazy kid.